


Shattered Shield

by Sephiratale



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood, Hurt, Limb removal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7514488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephiratale/pseuds/Sephiratale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas is gone through the eluvian, leaving the Inquisitor Tiael Lavellan alone with her thoughts, a dying arm and a shield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered Shield

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, 
> 
> This is a different kind of work I wanted to try. There is blood, limb removal, angst and hurt. 
> 
> Thanks to GuileandGuile and Iawv for their great help.

_ Live well while time remains _

 

He passes through the eluvian without looking back, she stays still, her dying hand in the air. Softly the colors of the mirror fade until it closes.

 

Still on the ground, unable to move, unable to think, the green light in her left arm catches her eye. It is fading, too. He  succeeded.

 

Now, she can see what’s left of her burned armor. And under the armor, something red-brown, dry … dead. She feels no pain.

 

The sound of an eluvian behind her reaches her ears. People are screaming her name, but everything sounds like it’s not real. Footsteps and shadows surround her, but she can’t focus on anything except for the red-brown thing hanging where her arm should be. It looks like a mummified limb—skeletal, cracked, desiccated.

 

Someone kneels beside her, calling her with a soft tone. She raises her head, she knows him.

 

“Vishante kaffas! Tiael, tell us what happened.”

 

Oh, yes, Dorian, her best friend. His eyes shine with worry.

 

“Inquisitor, we could not reach you for minutes. Solas was he here?”

 

A Nevarran accent, golden armor, Cassandra, the Divine.

 

“Boss is not right, Cassandra. I’m not sure we can obtain something from her.”

 

Strong arms take her from the ground. Horns, a qunari. Enemy? No, the Iron Bull.

 

Her friends, they are all here. She must explain, they must know.

 

“Solas was here. He was waiting … he knew about the Anchor. He took it off,” It’s her own voice she hears, but it seems unfamiliar.

 

“How is it possible? Such magic is not known here,” Dorian says.

 

She closes her eyes, breathing calmly. Something stings near the left elbow.

 

“Solas, he is Fen’Harel.”

 

A heavy silence falls between them. Of course, none of them expected that.

 

While she still in Bull’s arms, Dorian analyses her left arm. His look becomes more and more troubled.

 

“Her arm,” Cassandra begins.

 

“Is lost beyond repair, I’m afraid,” Dorian conclude with a sad voice.

 

She realises this red-brown, dead thing is her arm, killed by the Anchor, as it has sucked all the life from it. She has lost an arm.

 

“Boss, we need to go back to the Winter Palace, but…”

 

“Cut it off,” she says. She guessed what Bull planned to ask.

 

“Tiael, are you sure?” Dorian asks, worried.

 

“Cut it off,” Her voice is firmer this time.  _ Why keep a dead limb? _

 

She sees them preparing what they need, she understands she will have a part of her arm removed, but she is not afraid …  feels nothing inside her heart.

 

Bull lays her on the ground, he says he is sorry but there is nowhere they can make the removal.

 

Words come to her. 

 

“We need a tourniquet.”

 

“Let me do it, I’ve done this with the Chargers before.”

 

“We need to cut from a healthy part …”

 

“My blade is sharper than yours, you can use it.”

 

Dorian tears off a part of his mantle and knots it around her arm. He lays a hand of her shoulder, trying to smile. She returns it, then she fixates on the horizon; her mind stops.

 

The cold sparkle of an axe. The sound of the stroke through flesh and bone. The smell of blood—coppery and tart. Red drops falling on the ground, despite the piece of material against her arm. The light from Dorian’s spell, green and warm. No more drops falling. Still no pain.

 

Cassandra helps her sit, gives her something to drink, cool and refreshing, with a hint of plant … elfroot. On the ground, not far from her, lies the dead arm. She observes it like it’s something unknown, odd. Blood still pours from the healthy end, slowly. Under the sunlight, the limb reveals an ill brown color, like the bodies she saw at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The fingers hooked like the claws of a fear demon. The arm is demonic, not elvhen. Soon, it would return to the Fade. 

 

“Do you want to keep it as a souvenir?” Dorian tries to joke. 

 

She does not answer, her eyes wander elsewhere and stop at the Ancient Elvhen building. And she observes it, this part of the missing past of her people. 

 

“Better to burn it,” Dorian says for himself. 

 

Before she can realise it, she is in Iron Bull arms once more. The arm is gone, but she needs healing and rest she hears them explain. And she needs to end the Exalted Council. Her mind begins to work at this phrase. 

 

The journey back to the Winter Palace is brief. The guards near the eluvian let escape a gasp mixed between disgust and surprise. She ignores them, and gives her orders. 

 

She is brought in a bed. Her friends try to keep the agitation of the place away from her. A healer comes, eyebrows furrowing when he sees her. He expels everyone from the room and she can hear the furious voice of Cullen before the door closes. 

 

She sighs. A dreamless sleep suddenly catches her. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It’s over, the Exalted Council is over. Everyone is leaving, the Inquisition will now protect the Divine Victoria, her title is only honorific. She will go to Skyhold, home. Her heart does not warm to this idea. She is not happy, nor sad … she does not care. 

 

She is alone with her horse, waiting for Cullen. Cole appears next to her, tilting his head. 

 

“You cannot shield your mind from your emotions. It’s not good, it won’t change the truth,” Cole says, but his words find no answer in her heart. 

 

“Nothing is shielded, Cole.” 

 

“The lies strengthen the shield. You should not give it strength … You can’t listen yet. Safe travels.” 

 

He leaves her, shaking his head. She thinks she heard a bit of disappointment in his voice. He is wrong, she can listen, she has listened. 

 

She pets her horse for a moment, once more her mind does not work clearly, at last time passes quickly, as she can’t focus on anything. 

 

She hears Cullen’s footsteps behind her, then she feels his hand on her back. 

 

“Are you fine?” her husband asks. 

 

“Everything is alright.”

 

Again, she hears her own voice, which is not really hers. He does not seem to believe herself, but it matters not. He helps her to get on the horse and they ride for Skyhold. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“I need to leave you for a moment. Will you be alright?” Cullen asks, worried. 

 

“Everything will be fine, you can do your work, Commander.” She wants to reassure him, a tentative smile on her lips. 

 

He kisses her cheek, briefly taking her hand in his. 

 

“Don’t hesitate to warn me if you want something.” 

 

She nods, her eyes lost in the room. His hand slips from hers, he slowly leaves her, as if waiting for a sign. 

 

He finally closes the door. She takes a few steps toward bed in this suddenly too huge room. She falls on the mattress, her hand catching her cut limb. 

 

Solas, the Exalted Council, her lost arm, the Inquisition. Everything is abruptly too much to bare. She can’t … she does not even know what she can’t do, she just can’t. 

 

She curls on the bed, the shield she carefully maintained broken, shattered in multiple pieces she is unable to reassemble. She wants to cover her face with her hands … Now she feels the loss, the pain. Her heart is a pit full of unsaid suffering and sadness. 

 

Hot tears run down her face as she screams silently, her hand on her missing limb. Painful, everything is painful. 

 

She has lost.

 

First, she has lost her clan.

 

She has lost her arm. 

 

She has lost control of the Inquisition

  
_ I am lost. _


End file.
